


Soldier Bones

by Rosehip



Series: Ceilidh Tabris saves the Damn World [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Antivan Crows (Dragon Age) Training, F/M, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Pre-Relationship, Soldier's Peak (Dragon Age), a haunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: With the Warden compound in Denerim out of reach, Ceilidh Tabris knows they need to find somewhere else to gather their forces. When an old friend of Duncan's asks for help digging for history at the abandoned Soldier's Peak, it seems like a golden opportunity. They can always turn around if it's a wild goose chase... right? But the mountain holds more than secrets. Undead stalk the halls of the old fortress. When Zevran is grievously wounded defending Ceilidh, and can no longer climb back down, they have no choice but to see this through, or abandon him.Ceilidh has sworn never to leave anyone behind, ever again.Zevran has never met anyone who said that and meant it.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Series: Ceilidh Tabris saves the Damn World [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/796926
Comments: 28
Kudos: 18





	1. Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Starla-Nell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell), [Rainy_Bloomingtide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Bloomingtide/pseuds/Rainy_Bloomingtide), and [Meisiluosi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meisiluosi/pseuds/Meisiluosi) For beta reads.

One of these days, Zevran would grow accustomed to eagles swooping out of the sky and drifting gently to the ground in the shape of a woman. Her boots hit the dirt of the track with a satisfying thump and only the disarray of her feathery black hair betrayed that she had flown above the high, green canopy but seconds before.

A strange thing, Wardens,” Morrigan said while obviously looking only at Ceilidh. “A man with a peddler's pack approaches on foot, headed directly for us in great haste.”

“Why's that weird?” Ceilidh asked.

Leliana answered instead. “While we are out of the uncanny parts of the forest, we have seen too little human settlement to draw the attention of traveling merchants. Also, why would he take these deer tracks we've been following instead of the main road?”

“He couldn't be trading with the elves? Morrigan, is this person human?”

“He is. He _could_ intend to trade with the Dalish, I suppose, but few enough would travel this way.”

“I don't suppose,” Alistair raised an eyebrow at Zevran. “That he'll be one of yours?”

“How would I know?” Zevran asked. “However, I must say I find it very unlikely,” He knew his old colleagues would turn up eventually, but they had not seen much of anyone on the road as of yet. Who could spread the word?

They stopped for the man and Zevran pondered the strangeness of awaiting a traveler on a back road in Ferelden for the second time in less than a fortnight. There would be no setting explosives or dropping trees on anyone this time. Alas.

So it was that the gangly man in travel worn clothes, armed only with a walking stick, reached their group; who were paused in the road and obviously ready for him with weapons in easy reach.

“Warden!” He waved to them and then stopped in his tracks, paling a little as they all tensed. Zevran thought about how they must look from the human's view: an obvious apostate, two armed humans, two armed elves, a mabari, and a qunari all bristling at his approach. Two dwarfs and two cart ponies watched for easy exits.

“Er, you're a hard woman to find.” The merchant ran a hand through his sweaty, reddish hair.

“I could have been harder,” called Ceilidh in a friendlier voice than Zevran suspected she felt. Her back stood rigid as a lamppost. “We saw you coming. What do you want with me?”

“Ah where are my manners? Name's Levi. Levi Dryden. Did Duncan ever mention me?”

Ceilidh shot a look at Alistair, who replied “Not that I recall. You knew him?”

“He never told you of old Levi? Levi of the coins? Levi the trader?” His face fell a bit when nobody knew what he was talking about. “Well here I am, carrying on while you have a blight to stop. It's just that Duncan and I were working on something important for the Wardens... and for me. But poor Duncan's... well, no more. A tragedy, it is.”

Zevran weighed the words. He did not know who Duncan was, but this man did, and truly missed him. Zevran could always sense deceit.

“It... yeah.” Ceilidh said. “Look, I can tell you have a story. I'll hear it out but let's get off the road, first.”

Levi breathed a deep sigh.“Thank you, Warden.”

The sun lanced through the canopy more regularly than it had in the deepest parts of the forest, but they found the greenest nearby cluster which sheltered them from view and also cooled the air quite a bit, which the others seemed to appreciate.

Dryden leaned against the crook of a tree, looking less comfortable than that should have made him. “I was the one who brought the Wardens back to Ferelden again. Well I was one o' the ones. There were a lot of us. Excuse me, I'm a bit nervous. Honored to be here, really.” He drank from his water skin.

Ceilidh wore a bland expression that spoke to Zevran of careful management of the feelings of humans. “Right, back up a little bit. How did you know Duncan?”

Dryden deflated in relief. “Well it's a bit of a tale, that is. After King Maric freed us from the Orlesians, the Wardens begged to be allowed to return to Ferelden. Some sort of... internal business. Me and a mess of other Warden sympathizers spoke on behalf of your order. Teyrn Loghain was very much against letting Orlesian Wardens into the kingdom.”

Ceilidh snorted. “That figures.”

Dryden grimaced. “It does a bit, in hindsight. Luckily, King Maric was a fair minded monarch, and he let them in.”

When Alistair was thinking, it showed on his whole body. “So Duncan was with the Wardens when they arrived from Orlais back then?”

“He was. We were of an age, and we struck up a friendship. He was pretty new to the Order at the time, and almost everyone was older by a good bit. I think he might have been a bit lonely.”

“...Wow.” Alistair rubbed his chin.

“So what did Duncan promise you?” Ceilidh continued.

“It's about my family. Our past is a bit checkered, y'see. Nobles look at us with disdain. My great-great grandmother, Sophia Dryden, was the last Warden Commander of Ferelden, back when the Wardens were known as freeloaders. So King Arland banished the Wardens, and he took House Dryden's land and titles.”

“There must be more to that,” observed Leliana. “Some monarchs can be very petty, but that seems quite extreme, no?”

“King Arland wasn't known for his reasonableness,” Dryden replied. “But even so, it does, a bit. Very little is known about what happened in those days. Records were lost after the civil war. It was loads worse than this one. My family was on the run, hunted by enemies, with nary a friend in the world. But Drydens are tough. We rebuilt, became merchants, and we never lost our pride. Ahem. So I asked Duncan for the truth. My family reveres Sophia Dryden. We know she died at the old Grey Warden base, Soldier's Peak. We want evidence to clear her name. It won't restore our land or our titles, but it'll restore our honor.”

Ceilidh might have rolled her eyes a little bit at that, but covered it by turning to Alistair. “Have you heard of Soldier's Peak?”

“No, I don't think I have.”

“Well no-one's been to Soldier's Peak since Arland's days. Least none that's come back. I spent years mapping the maze of tunnels to the peak, and I found the way a few years back. So I went to Duncan, I did. I said that he could reclaim the old base, and my family could have its honor.”

“Then why didn't that happen?” Ceilidh asked.

“Darkspawn surfaced in Southern Ferelden and Duncan got plenty busy recruiting new Wardens and meeting with good King Cailan. Duncan said he would help after the battle of Ostagar; said there might be useful things at the peak. But he never had the chance.”

“Right. Ser Dryden, will you let us have a minute to talk about this?”

“Oh, of course.” Levi brushed his hands off on his trousers and moved off a ways, giving them adequate privacy if they didn't speak too loudly.

Zevran wondered, new to this party as he was, if he would be shooed off as well, but nobody did so.

Ceilidh cut right to the chase. “What does everybody think?”

Alistair brushed a hand through his hair. “I might be a little bit biased. I want to check it out. If we're going near it anyway, well it's something Duncan wanted. It makes me think it might be important.”

“Not so important that he did it himself, of course.” Morrigan's lips pursed in thought.

“Can we be certain he is telling us the truth?” asked Leliana. “It's very convenient he just happened to find us here, of all places, with a very tempting story.”

“I also think the story is tempting,” admitted Ceilidh. “But, you know me, I think this sort of thing is so cool.”

“Exactly,” Leliana nodded. “It's like the story has been crafted to pique your interest and Alistair's, in particular. I could hardly do better myself, of an evening.”

Zevran wasn't certain the group would welcome his opinion, but silence had never sat easily with him. He decided to risk it at this low stakes moment, if only to see what would happen. “I believe he is telling the truth as he knows it. Though, he could have been lied to by his family, no?”

“Really?” Ceilidh perked up. “How come you think he's telling the truth?”

“It is hard to explain, Warden. Such things are more in feelings than in definites, yes? The best summary I can provide is that his body language speaks of eagerness and nervousness, but not the level of nervousness that lying to several armed and dangerous strangers in the middle of nowhere should provoke. He also scrambled to get his story out in any sort of order. Such a performance does not reflect a rehearsal, does it? He may be omitting some details, mind you. But the bones of the story? Those feel true.”

“That makes sense, thanks.”

“And now you believe _him_?” Alistair pointed at Zevran.

“You wanted to do this four seconds ago, Alistair.”

“Right. Yeah I still want to do it.” He flushed. “I just think we should... keep our eyes open. Y'know. In case.”

Ceilidh chewed on her lip and stared at the canopy for a moment. After a long pause, she spoke. “I think that if we had somewhere like that, where nobody can get to it but us and a family of merchants? It'd be so helpful. The Grey Warden base being smack in the fucking middle of Denerim is a problem, too. Fine, I guess, since the Grey Wardens are two newbies. But, you know, we're supposed to be neutral. I kinda see why at this point. Loghain imagined to himself we might be political and that's how we're in this mess.” She exhaled hard and stared at her boots. “Grr. Anyway! does this seem too good to be true to anybody else? Cuz I wanna do it and it seems like a bad plan just because it seems like such a good plan. There's gotta be a catch.”

“We should be careful if we're doing this,” mused Alistair. “It is strange that nobody found their way up to it during the entire occupation. Either side could have, y'know. Benefited.”

“If they knew. Which I guess they didn't.”

“It happens at times,” Leliana said. “One would suppose that places are always in use, but in my travels I have seen abandoned homes, entire castles returned to the earth, consumed by nature. Much like the ruins in the forest, no? It happens much faster than that, however. Sometimes people simply cannot return He did say 'none that have come back', but it is far more likely that none left knew the way.”

“Fine.” Ceilidh stood straighter and brushed invisible dirt from her palms. “We'll watch for trouble and if we find more than we can handle, we turn back. No problem. Let's tell Ser Dryden that he's about to help us get a Warden base.”


	2. Unsettled Seasons

  


They traveled past summer in a matter of days. The nights cooled first. Frost sparkled on the green grass in the morning. Deep green forest full of humming creatures and the smell of earth turned to golden fields and the scent of dry grass; then to rocky hills that smelled of dust. Finally the world became sheer rock faces and conifers, smelling of sap and a dusting of snow.

“I can't even call this hiking, anymore,” grumbled Ceilidh. A film of powdery snow lay over the increasingly vertical “path”. She clutched at her side, wincing. “It's more like climbing, now. I feel a little funny.” She felt very glad that the strange wooden armor she'd taken from the ruins weighed so little. She would have hated to cope with a chainmail shirt like Alistair's or Sten's.

Bodahn slumped in the driver's seat of his cart as he nodded. “It's very strange. It feels like the air's thinner from altitude, but it shouldn't be.”

“It shouldn't?”

“Not for a good long time, yet. If you travel to Orzammar above ground, you'll feel the same in those mountains, but this is mighty peculiar at this level, Warden. That said, this path is awfully steep. If it continues like this I won't be able to accompany you. Axle won't hold.” He sounded mournful. His stocky ponies in their summer coats looked as unhappy.

“Not enchantment,” whispered Sandal.

“One of these days I'll figure out what you mean and I'm gonna freak the fuck out, I can tell. Anyway.” Ceilidh pitched her voice to carry and called “Planning break, everybody!”

“You sound happy for the excuse,” teased Alistair.

“Yeah, this sucks, what's your point? Breaktime!” She grinned at him. She'd heard the gasp in his voice, too.

Everyone gathered around. Morrigan, wrapped in a blood red cloak, looked around, pensively. She'd kept uncharacteristically quiet for days. Sten grumped more than usual, and ignored all Dane's attempts to engage him in a game of fetch. At least one of them had energy. Leliana had been moving quickly but as the day wore on, she complained of the weight of her pack more and more. She dropped it on the ground with a weary sounding fwop. Zevran hadn't said a word all day. He folded his arms and leaned against a rock.

Oh. I should have noticed. What an easy decision. “I know we were all hoping to make better time but we're camping here tonight.”

“Er, are you certain, ma'am?” asked Levi. “We aren't very far from the start of the tunnels. We could get out of the wind.”

“Yeah, I'm sure. We're just not used to this. If we keep at it much longer, and something does attack, we'll be doomed.”

“I haven't ever run into too much trouble hereabouts. Nobody for the bandits to rob.”

“Thank you, that's good to know. But it's a weird year.”

“Ah, well, that's a good point, then.” He shifted with discomfort and Ceilidh suspected he'd never truly fought anything.

Ceilidh turned towards the cart. “Bodahn, you said your wife is in Denerim? Do you want to travel ahead and we'll meet up with you?”

He gave it some thought, ticking off points on his fingers, but not speaking them aloud. “No, I do have to turn around.” He sighed. “My cart wasn't made for this kind of environment, you see. It's not dwarven made. But I would rather not go on alone. If there are fewer darkspawn hereabouts, that probably just means more brigands. I'll wait for you back in the foothills. I'll stay here tonight and set off in the morning.” The dwarf sighed again.

Ceilidh grinned. “You were looking forward to this, weren't you?”

Bodahn had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Wellll, there's all that forgotten history to think of.”

“Heh. I'll take notes.” She winked. They both knew she'd sell him a few choice trinkets at a good price. Ceilidh admitted to herself, though, that she felt a bit relieved. Anything of actual historical value, or important to the Wardens, would be much safer with Bodahn elsewhere.

“Levi, how much worse does the path get?” Ceilidh asked.

“”Ah, worse. We'll be using our hands in places, and it'll be important to stay together. There's false passages and a lot of strange fog. Hard to see much of anything in places. I've never brought a cart up this way, and didn't think of it but I suspect the gentleman here is right. I should have thought sooner, sorry.”

“All right, good to know. Then we'll have to figure out what to carry...”

They decided Leliana would set traps for game to roast to carry with them. In the meantime, they would make flatbread as well, and have one more meal of good, warm soup while they still had the big pot. Nobody wanted to carry that thing. Alistair's shield weighed less.

As they broke to set up camp, Morrigan drew Ceilidh aside. “I wish to speak to you a moment,” she said. “About things which may have gone unnoticed by most of you. To come right to the point, 'tis not the air that grows thinner, 'tis the veil.”

“Why does it feel so strange even compared to the forest?” The Brecilian felt like a single creature, aware of but neutral towards all the smaller beings who lived with it. There was a sense to it, like embroidery on silk. Many things made one thing. The mountain felt all out of whack to Ceilidh, like it wasn't one place but a layer of places, or like... a coat with a few layers of lining that hadn't been pinned properly before sewing. Uncomfortable.

“That I cannot say,” Morrigan answered. “Perhaps the forest has become a more natural place over time. The creatures have learned to live there, and things have reached a sort of balance. I do not think this mountain is in any sort of harmony. Not with itself, and not with the creatures upon it.”

“That sounds about right, but not good.”

“Tis probably not. We should watch for strange things. I will be on guard and will notify you of anything alarming.”

“That's a great help, thanks, Morrigan.”

*

Zevran tied off the last knot holding this monstrosity of a “tent” in one piece. The Warden declared it too cold to separate off the way they usually did, and insisted on constructing one shelter for all of them, using all three tents. It turned out ugly and odd looking, but sturdy enough, incorporating several live evergreen trees as part of the structure. Morrigan suggested mounding the needles high in the floor for insulation. It was a trade off. They couldn't use the braziers with so much greenery around, but the heat of so many people should help. Zevran admitted some private relief. While the Warden sometimes allowed him to borrow her small tent, he had not expected a roof this night. They simply did not have enough sheltered space for everyone. With him being the newest, and not especially trusted... well. Zevran knew how these things worked.

Had Zevran had ANY idea he would remain alive for such an adventure, he would have bought those boots after all. Possibly a coat as well, if they even had coats in Antiva which could help against Fereldan summer. He had layered all of his shirts under his leather cuirass. His clothes were all made to battle heat, not cold, however. Snow found its way into his old boots over and over again. His soaking feet felt less horrible now than earlier, as he grew accustomed to the cold, but they tormented him even so. He kept his boots in good repair. How did this problem persist?! Only now, as he worked up a sweat battling their camping supplies, did he finally feel any warmth at all. He took his leather and gloves off and set them carefully aside, as the merchant had said they'd not expect trouble.

He gathered every pelt and blanket in their collective possession to arrange them inside. Morrigan prepared the fire from gathered wood. Zevran heard Sten stomping off to gather more. The dwarfs tended to the ponies. Dryden rummaged through his pack.

From inside the tent, Zevran noticed Alistair attempting to be subtle. “Ceilidh,” the large human softly began. “May I talk to you for a moment? Privately, I mean?”

If he'd meant for nobody to hear, which Zevran was fairly sure was the case, he should have been quieter than that. Morrigan was right there, Sten couldn't possibly have gone far, and Zevran merely stood out of sight.

Humans always think elf ears are decorative and erotic. They forget that they also hear things, thought Zevran as he shook his head to himself. Evidently Qunari ears are similarly inefficient, in the human mind. Witch ears too? Who knows.

“A-ll right.”

Zevran snapped to attention at the uncharacteristic tremble in her voice. She couldn't fear the human, could she? The two warriors seemed fairly evenly matched in battle skills. Beyond that, the man seemed overprotective of her, if anything.

Zevran followed them, of course. It was no decision at all. Curiosity, a bit of desire to demonstrate competent sneakiness, if only to himself; and the Warden's nervousness outweighed any sense of propriety that might have told him to mind his own business- had it existed.

He crept out beneath the tent walls. It didn't even rustle. His hands made obvious marks in the snow, however. Snow... it distracted him for a moment, with its fresh, glittering beauty in the soft, evening light. And its feel. How interesting, the way it crunched and whispered through his fingers.

Zevran shook himself back awake. He needed to get creative. The biting wind denuded the topmost edges of the rocks. He balanced across them. When for a time there were none of those, he climbed through low pine branches. His feet never touched ground again while he hid. Everything felt slippery, but he managed.

Alistair led Ceilidh in the opposite direction of the one Sten had taken. The Qunari's camp ax echoed across the distance, faintly, by the time they stopped.

“This is as far as we should go what with Morrigan sniffing magic already,” said Ceilidh. “What do you want to talk about?”

Alistair shuffled uncomfortably. “I wondered if you'd thought through this evening's plan. Not the stopping early part. I definitely agree there. But the communal tent part.”

Ceilidh visibly relaxed. “Are you worried about privacy? I'd bet money Dane'll be the only naked person any of us will see for days.”

“No, I mean- well there is that. But there's not only that. I'm just a- a little uneasy about sleeping in such close proximity to some of our traveling companions. Do you... trust them all this much?

“Alistair, I have to. They're all I've got.”

He stood, blinking into the middle distance for a long moment. “Wow, I suppose I could say the same. I'm not sure what to think about that.”

“Well look at it this way. We're a bunch of near strangers on a mountain, sure. I know everybody has their own motives, but packed into one shelter like this, it will be really hard for anyone to act on anything that would hurt the group. But if you want, I'll take first watch, you take second, and you can pick who takes third.

“Dane,” Alistair replied without hesitation.

Zevran bit his lips together from his hiding spot in the trees to keep from laughing. Ceilidh didn't try. A trill of surprised mirth rippled through the trees.

“Seriously? Well, all right then,” she replied. “At least his motives are no secret. We should head back. Everybody's going to wonder, and I want to make us a hot drink.”

Zevran crept back the way he had come. That had proved educational. Alistair trusted Ceilidh enough to have this conversation privately with her, while she trusted him little enough that she did not wish to follow him out alone. Hmm. Otherwise, she seemed to trust easily. She would have been a very simple mark for his original team.

He almost fell off a rock.

Zevran shoved his mind back into the present. He hurried back, and softly sank his feet into the snow to his heart's content near the campsite. It made a delightful tiny squeak and crunch. He retrieved his pack from near the tent and carried it in, without changing his light tread. Intentional stealth was a near enough neighbor to his natural way of moving, anyway.

“Where have you been, elf?” asked Morrigan, when he stepped out once more.

“Constructing this monstrous tent, testing its stability, and organizing my things, of course,” he replied. He hadn't realized he'd shifted back to normal movement- or had she perceived him through his silence? Slipping up like that was rare. “Is it wrong to be quiet?”

“In your case, probably.” But she returned to kneading dough.


	3. Island of Warmth

The sun dipped behind a stand of trees as Ceilidh returned with Alistair. She took a look around the campsite. The monster tent hunched around the base of a cluster of pines with the slope at its back. That should be pretty stable. A large fire already crackled away. Ceilidh took a look at her crew. Sten returned with an armload of firewood. Dane followed behind him. Leliana hadn't returned. Zevran seemed to be between tasks. Levi chopped onions at Morrigan's direction. A series of bustles and thumps sounded from Bodahn's cart where he and Sandal did... whatever it was they did.

Ceilidh looked again at Zevran. Odd- he usually couldn't stand to sit still for even a moment; asleep or nearly dancing were his only states of being. Now though, he didn't even fidget. She walked over to him. It took him half a moment too long to look back at her. Was it a trick of the light making him seem a little... off? The light wouldn't make him seem... less graceful, somehow.

“Zev? How are you?”

He tilted his head quizzically. His words came out very precise, and spoken carefully, as if he wasn't quite drunk yet but would be soon. “A bit tired? Well enough, I think. The cold was getting to me but I believe I have grown accustomed. Why do you ask?”

_Oh. Some leader I am, again._ Memories spun through Ceilidh's mind of Cyrion inviting anyone in come winter, who showed signs of needing to warm up, fast. Sometimes nobody found them til morning, looking strangely peaceful, but never to warm again. Ironically people were in deep, deep trouble if they took off their clothes and said they were fine. Zevran had taken off his leather and gloves... Ceilidh removed her own gloves and carefully touched his arm. It was very cold under two layers of well made, but thin, shirt. Did he own more than two shirts? He didn't wear a coat. Ceilidh had been trying so hard to treat Zevran normally after she'd had a deeply personal dream about him a few days back that it seemed she'd not paid  _enough_ attention to him. “You're not used to it, you're freezing. Here.” She took off her dark blue, patchwork cloak and threw it around his shoulders. “Sit as close to the fire as you can.  _Don't_ hold your hands towards it.”

He laughed as he obeyed her commands. “Your concern is touching, Warden, but you are overreacting, I'm sure.” Ceilidh was sure she wasn't. His words definitely took more effort than usual.

Ceilidh assembled things for tea. “Nope. I should have seen it sooner. Come to think of it... Sten? How are you?”

The giant glowered “I am not some tiny bas to wither in this unseasonable cold.”

She looked at him dubiously. “Humor me and take the bear hide from the Brecilian, just in case. And I'm going to pretend I haven't figured out what a bas is.”

“I do not wither...” Zevran argued just as Levi said “About that, I have something for you each.”

“What's that, Levi?” Ceilidh asked.

“I appreciate you coming with me straight away,” he said. “Though it means you might not have been as prepared for the trek as if you hadn't, so I reckon it's my fault, a bit. I have enough fire crystals to give everybody one. They'll warm you if you hold 'em, and you can put 'em in a vial inside your clothes. They're an ingredient for lots of potions but I thought they might be more useful in their natural form at the moment. I'd not usually have so many but I got a good deal on them, it being summer, and all.”

“If you're willing to share those, I'd sure appreciate it,” Ceilidh said. Only her time in a shop kept her from betraying how much the gesture startled her. Those things were expensive, by alienage standards. She could maybe have bought three of them with her whole savings when she'd left home, and that only because of her wedding money. She did not need to think of that, and strode off instead to get some vials and cord for threading them as necklaces from Bodahn.

Leliana called from the forest. “Hey, everyone! I'm back!”

Ceilidh turned to see her emerge from the trees with a giant turkey carcass. “That was so fast! I thought we'd have to wait til morning for traps to turn anything up.”

“This large fellow ran straight out of a shrub and charged me so I shot him. I did not need to bother with the traps, after all. Maybe the animals around here are unused to people and do not think of us as dangerous.”

“Or perhaps,” Morrigan sauntered over to retrieve the thing for processing. “Tis a turkey, and they are just like that. You are lucky indeed he didn't get a good slice out of you, first.”

“Ah, thank you, yes. He tried. I slipped on some ice- backwards, right out of his way. He did not reach me again.”

Ceilidh finished making the herbal tea and threading fire crystal charms. The drink she'd chosen wasn't actual tea but an assortment of flowers and fruit that smelled a bit like a mixed berry pie and looked red. Her steaming cup of it sitting beside the warmly glowing crystals struck her as weirdly cozy.

Everyone else seemed to feel the same. Each came over and filled their cups, lingering by the fire, or sitting near it as their tasks allowed. The orange and red glow covered them like a blanket, the blue of falling evening receded to a pleasant backdrop. As hard as the day had been, perhaps things would be all right.

“I think I want to smoke the turkey,” Ceilidh said. “It'll last a while then and save us having to eat all our sausage and jerky. Morrigan, are the giblets going in the soup or should we fry them?”

“The soup, I think.” Morrigan looked over from a flat slab of rock where she'd nearly prepped the bird already. “'Twill be most pleasant with some of the vegetables we've collected.” As much as Morrigan groused about cooking at the start of their journey, she obviously enjoyed it as much as she excelled at it. Without saying anything, much of the time she simply began dinner before anyone could say anything.

Before long, they had the turkey smoking away under a dented pail they'd scavenged from a town near lothering. Some of the dry wood they'd collected was mulberry, lucky enough. The soup bubbled in the pot, smelling wonderfully of onions and turkey fat. And now they even had little fires to carry in their pockets. Weird mountain or not, Ceilidh felt ready to face it.

Dinner passed in a pleasant quiet. Ceilidh spared a look or two for Zevran, who revived well. He didn't offer to return her cloak, and she didn't ask. Nobody really said much of anything, in fact. Perhaps they felt as reluctant to break the companionable peace as Ceilidh did, herself. Most turned in early. Ceilidh claimed a spot by the edge of the tent monster that she could reach without waking anyone after her watch. Morrigan stayed up with her a while to tend the turkey before turning in as well, leaving Ceilidh to herself.

When the meat finished smoking to her satisfaction, she wrapped it and buried it in the snow. Those on watch needed to guard it from animals til morning when they'd divide it up. She wasn't the best animal expert but had heard enough calls to know it wasn't all squirrels and birds up here.

She crept into the dark of the tent and shook the second largest lump awake. Alistair sat up with a stifled groan. His hair stood up like the petals on a wild bergamot. She whispered instructions and the location of the turkey, and crawled off to the side where she'd left her pack.

That midnight sort of feeling where things that are only funny _right then_ struck her. Sten and Zevran slept nearest, as though murderers had all been banished to this corner. It wasn't funny, it was just a fucked up coincidence but she buried herself in her covers and struggled to get a handle on her breathing before her giggles woke everybody. She fell asleep anyway shortly after Alistair left the tent.

*

Alistair stifled a yawn. He took comfort in the fact that he would get to go back to sleep later. He couldn't bear his current level of weariness otherwise. Tomorrow wouldn't be any better- not if they had to carry everything they needed. He'd crashed hard- harder than he had since he'd Joined. The darkspawn murmurs persisted as always but it felt like a wall stood between the archdemon and himself tonight, for some reason.

Duncan had known long ago that the archdemon was waking. The Fereldan wardens had been something of a skeleton crew, as Alistair understood it. Alistair and the others who Joined when he had counted as Blight-Joined- destined to feel the archdemon more keenly.

He had dreams as bad as Ceilidh's, but more practice dealing with them. She managed during the day but he had no idea how. The woman hadn't had a full night's sleep since her Joining. He hoped whatever respite he'd enjoyed tonight found her, too.

Alistair tended the fire and then turned his back to it to adjust his eyes to the dark. It didn't take long. Secretly, he knew why that was and had for a few years, now. He wondered what Ceilidh would think if she knew Alistair's mother was an elf.

The way she acted around other elves was so different from how she responded to humans. Humans, she held at arm's distance, wary. Elves were all potential friends, to her. That even extended to the assassin. How many people would be _happy_ to welcome a murderer?

Could Alistair have prevented that? Could he have eased whatever loneliness drove her, if he had only told her straight away? He hadn't ever been encouraged to tell, so he didn't have the habit. Was it his fault that she felt like she needed to accept the company of the first elf who offered to join them?

Alistair sighed as he stared out at the dark. He hadn't felt sure enough of himself to challenge her on sharing tent space with Zevran, specifically. If whatever came over Sten back at that farmhold caused him to attack randomly in the night, they'd all know about it and be awake to fight back. But Zevran? He was a whole other matter.

He heard whispering, and hoped whoever it was could get back to sleep soon. Eyes watched from the forest, of a proper size to be raccoons, or coyotes at most. Nothing strayed near their food, yet. An owl called.

The voices raised. Feeling like an annoying house monitor back in the dorms at school, he opened the tent flap just a smidgin, to hush whoever risked waking everyone. Only... everyone's breathing was still and regular. One of the assassin's eyes winked open, flashed gold in the firelight, focused creepily on Alistair a moment, and closed again. Sandal sat up, took a breath, and Alistair backed out before the kid could enthusiastically ask about enchanting things.

Not there, then. Did they have company? Who would be in these hills, tonight? Levi didn't make it sound like anyone ever came here. Could it be that someone lived at the top, who rarely descended? They certainly hadn't seen any footprints, only animal tracks.

Alistair definitely heard someone speaking. Their campsite sat sheltered by a particularly steep bit of slope and several huge pines. Even so, from several directions, someone could see their fire. He circled the area, keeping his back to the fire's glow as much as possible. He heard nothing again as he made his way carefully through the dark woods.

Until he heard several swords drawn at once.

He drew his own.

And then: nothing.

Nothing but Alistair's own heart thundering in his ears, anyway. The woods fell silent. He and the animals were quite alone.

Alistair knew somehow, they hadn't been.


End file.
